Hold Back the River
by My name's AC
Summary: Seven snippets, seven years of Hope's life and her relation with Hank (and Janet) from her birth to the day Hope learned about her mother's alleged death.


**This is one of the fanfictions I'm most proud of. I started developing the idea in September 2015. By January 2016 I got the final idea established and started writing it, and only concluded it in April 2016. Then, almost two more months to be beta-ed. So, yeah, this is my baby; it took me almost 9 months to create it.**

 **The title of this fanfiction is from the song "Hold Back the River" by James Bay because every time I listen to the song, I just feel it sums perfectly Hank and Hope's relationship.**

 **P.S.: A big, big thank you to Florence, my beta reader.**

* * *

 _1980_

"You know, the strongest oak of the forest is not the one that is protected from the storm and hidden from the sun," Hank spoke quietly, cradling a small pink-hatted baby in his arms as he walked back and forth in the hospital room. "It's the one that stands in the open where it is compelled to struggle for existence against the winds and rains and the scorching sun. Napoleon Hill said it, not me," he suppressed a chuckle so he wouldn't awake the baby. "If you ever ask me why your mother and I gave you an acorn and oak leaf necklace, this is how I'll explain it to you: a big and mighty oak tree grows from a very tiny acorn. Same thing will happen with you. You won't understand it right away, but one day you will."

Janet felt like she was trapped in a heavy black cloud. She couldn't see or hear anything, all she could feel was heaviness in her whole body. She tried to open her eyes, but it was if a black hole was sucking the life out of her. She had all the reasons in the world to be tired, no argument there. Slowly her eyes fluttered open. Everything was blurry, her world spinning around. The noise entering her ears that was once nothing more than a blend of distorted sounds, started to make sense; the buzz of a machine, the steps of someone pacing back and forth in the room, a quiet, soothing voice. She turned her head, meeting the blurry silhouette of her husband and gave a soft smile.

"Look at that," Hank said softly, walking to his wife, carrying the baby in his arms. "Your mother woke up."

"Is the baby alright?" she mumbled with a husky voice.

That was the first thing that Janet wanted to know. She had delivered a baby, that much she had figured; however, any other memory of what had happened after entering the operation room was nonexistent. The obstetrician told her and Hank that it was best to deliver the baby via C-section given their history.

In the brief seconds preceding her blackout as Janet was wheeled into the operation room, she remembered the year of 1973 when she found out she was pregnant in the worst possible way: she woke up with a severe abdominal pain and blood running down her legs. She was only a few weeks pregnant – unaware of it then - when she and Hank lost their first child. They were rather young at the time, so they directed their focus to work, as a way to push away the grief. It wasn't easy for them, dealing with the miscarriage, but they held on.

There was a second miscarriage not even two years later that Janet didn't tell Hank about. At least not right away. It wasn't until he found her locked in the bathroom, crying, that he found out. Then, in mid-1978, when Janet told Hank that she was pregnant, they didn't set their hopes too high. She was one week away from completing the first trimester of gestation when third miscarriage happened.

This was their fourth pregnancy. They didn't know how to feel about it. There was a part of them that believed that this time it would be successful. After passing the first trimester, their optimism increased, and by the sixth month of Janet's pregnancy, their expectation had hit the roof. The baby was quite active. Even so, they avoided discussing baby names and had only bought a few clothes and a crib for their child... there was a lot that could go wrong. Like clockwork, once Janet reached the first day of the fortieth week of pregnancy, she went into labor. The baby was born and breathing, and even though that was already enough for Janet to feel like her heart would burst with happiness, she knew that there could have been complications.

"The doctor says she's got a fine pair of lungs," Hank told her, quietly chuckling.

"She?" Janet struggled but managed to push herself up into a sitting position. "We have a little girl?"

"We have a little girl," he grinned. Hank gently transferred the sleeping baby girl to his wife's arms and then took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Janet beamed, caressing the baby's closed fist with her index finger. Looking at her husband, she said, "She's beautiful, Hank."

"I know," he agreed, pressing a kiss into his wife's hair. "It finally happened for us."

"What are we naming her?" Janet mused aloud, looking down at her daughter.

"We didn't talk about it, but for a girl I had thought of Evangeline. It means bringer of good news. I think it fits her."

"You know," she looked up at him, "I somehow felt that this baby would thrive. The name Hope was always on the back of my mind, as if I knew it'd be a girl," Janet smiled, her fatigue momentarily fading away. "Hope Evangeline Pym. It's a perfect name for her."

Hank smiled, softly caressing Hope's belly with the tip of his fingers. Her green eyes flew open. Hope's little face crumpled up and her lips trembled just before she burst into tears, crying her little lungs off in her mother's arms.

"The doctor was right about her fine pair of lungs," Janet commented with a snigger, rocking Hope while making shushing sounds with her mouth.

"We're off to a good start," Hank let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle as he reached for her pacifier that was in the bassinet next to Janet's bed. "I'm sorry. Dad's an idiot for waking you."

* * *

 _1981_

The Pym's bunker was a perfect mess. There was the Ant-Man and the Wasp suits laying here, a pacifier laying there, tools thrown all over the work table, baby toys scattered all over the floor. Hope was playing, Hank and Janet were working.

"Ow!" Janet whined after being smacked in the calf with a toy rattle. She turned around to her daughter in the playpen, standing on the tip of her toes, hands tightly holding onto the bars, a cheeky grin on her face. "Don't do that, Hope."

Hope giggled, melting her mother's heart who ended up smiling broadly, stroking her daughter's dark downy hair.

"Ma!" the toddler babbled, bouncing up and down on her toes.

"Are you bored in there? Want to get out?"

Janet took Hope's screeching as a yes and picked her up in arms.

"Do you want to see what your dad and I are working on?" Janet asked her daughter.

She walked over to what was still just a prototype of a new Wasp suit. It was navy and gold, only two of its four wings were completed and Hank was still perfecting the helmet so it would protect the brain from being affected by the Pym Particles.

"That is going to be mom's new Wasp suit," Janet carried on, rocking Hope in her arms. "And one day, baby girl, one day it'll be yours. I know it," Janet beamed. "You'll look so good in it, saving the world like the big, brave girl you are. And I'll be so proud of you, baby girl. So, so proud."

"You know, I'm getting hungry," Hank suddenly blurted, "and it's time for Hope's nap." He walked to them and took Hope from his wife's arms, "Mind getting us something to eat while I put Hope to sleep?"

"Sure," Janet sighed and made her way upstairs.

She knew how much Hank hated whenever she spoke about Hope taking on the mantle of the Wasp, but nothing he said would change her mind: Hope would one day be the Wasp and Janet knew it.

"I'm never letting you take on the mantle," Hank said, staring at the suit while adjusting Hope in his arms. "It's in your nature, I know. God, it's in your blood, but I'm never letting you take on the mantle. You are every bit of your mother, I know that too, but believe me, if it ever depends on me, you are _never_ putting on the suit. I wish I could have said no to your mother, but I just couldn't. She was born to it. She's… she's a hero in the true sense of the word, and even though I don't want to think about it, I know that there will come a day when she'll push the meaning of hero to martyr and I'll… I'll lose her." Hank swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat. "You and your mother are the most important people in my life and if I couldn't say no to your mother, I'll say no to you. I'm sorry. I'll sound like a jerk, I'll _be_ a goddam jerk, but I don't want to lose you, Caterpillar. You don't have to put your life on the line to be a hero, believe me. There's a ton of other things you can do in your life. Just don't be like your mother. Or like me. Be your own person, that's all I ask."

"It'll be her choice," Janet said quietly.

Hank looked back with Hope almost asleep in his arms, finding his wife leaning on the doorframe.

"Whether you want it or not," she continued, "it'll be her choice, not ours. We should work on the suit and leave it to her."

"Janet –"

"If she's every bit of me as you say, we won't have to worry about her. She'll fly like a butterfly and sting like a bee. Well," she offered a smile, "like a wasp."

"I'm hoping she won't be as stubborn as you," Hank sighed, the corner of his lips lifting into a small smile.

"Oh, she will, Hank," Janet grinned.

* * *

 _1982_

The day had been tiring for Janet, both physically and emotionally. She and Hank had just returned from the hospital. There had been another pregnancy scare not long ago (false alarm, as it turned out) and it had led the couple to have a serious and lengthy conversation. They were aware that future pregnancies could beget children, but it could also cause them more heartbreak. The three miscarriages prior to Hope's birth were memories that would never leave them. They had brought one child into the world and agreed it was best to spare themselves anymore pain, so Janet underwent a tubal ligation.

"Are you comfortable?" Hank asked, helping his wife lying down in bed. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine," she said, pulling the covers up to her chest. "Hank?"

"Yeah?" he promptly turned.

"If Hope's not sleeping, can you bring her here so I can kiss her goodnight? I don't feel like getting up."

"You _shouldn't_ get up," he said, already making his way out to the hall.

In a matter of seconds Hank was standing in the master bedroom doorway, Hope cradled in his arms.

"Mommy!" she happily screeched in her father's arms.

As soon as Hank put her down on her feet, Hope was a blurry figure in pajamas that rushed into the bedroom and jumped onto the bed to snuggle up in her mother's embrace.

"Hi baby girl," Janet smiled broadly, tucking a small lock of Hope's hair behind her ear. "Did you behave?"

The toddler nodded – in her innocent mind she was always on her best behavior when left with the nanny. Hank took a seat on the edge of the bed, fondly watching the two of them. Hope's eyes fluttered closed as Janet ran her fingers through her hair. The little girl yawned and lazily stretched her body, throwing her arms over her head and kicking her legs up. Janet smiled and looked at her husband; their little girl was just too adorable for words.

"Why are you still awake, uh?" Hank asked, tickling Hope's belly. "It's way past your bedtime, Caterpillar."

Hope pushed herself to her feet and tottered to her father, arms outstretched, as the soft mattress slightly sunk under the light weight of her small feet. Hank looped his arm around Hope, cradling her close to his side.

"Baba," she grumbled, smacking her father on the chest with her fist.

"Ah, I see," Hank nodded as he got up, "I'll get you the bottle."

Hope snuggled up on her mother's side again, giggling. Janet was tickling her daughter just enough to send her into a fit of laughter. Hank returned shortly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed again as he handed the bottle to Hope. She grabbed the baby bottle's handles in a tight grip and immediately popped the nipple in her mouth, avidly drinking the milk.

"I think you didn't really behave that well tonight," Janet smirked. "Did you eat dinner, Hope?"

The girl giggled quietly and mumbled a few incoherent things while biting on the bottle's nipple. She drank her milk in a blink of an eye and let out a long yawn as she waved the empty baby bottle at her father.

"I can see you drank it all, no need to wave it in my face," Hank said, causing Janet to give a small smile. He grabbed the bottle in one hand and beckoned Hope with the other one, "C'mon now, you two need to sleep."

Janet leaned down, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead, "She can sleep with us tonight."

He figured his wife needed the comforting warmth of their daughter in her embrace that night.

"I'm getting this washed," he told her instead, making his way to the kitchen.

When he returned to the bedroom once again, Hank made his way straight to the wardrobe to change into his sleeping garments. Hope was behaving like a puppy, tossing and turning until she'd found the position to sleep for the night and Janet was busily trying, once and again, to drape the comforter over the fidgety girl. Hope finally settled down, having found out how she wanted to lie down, more specifically, _where_ she wanted to lie down.

"Ah!" Hank let out suddenly, startling the little girl unintentionally. "Not on your mother."

Hope stared at her father, frozen in place, with one knee pressing down on her mother's stomach and her tiny hands resting on her shoulder blades. On any other day Janet would have told her husband that twenty-five pounds were nothing, but she knew that tonight her daughter's light weight would not feel that light.

"Lie down on dad's chest," Janet suggested.

Once her father slid under the covers, Hope climbed on top of him, comfortably sprawled herself over his chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Hank put one arm over their daughter's body and stretched out the other one when the bed sheets rustled next to him; Janet had dragged her body closer to his and so he offered his arm as her pillow, holding her close against his side. He ran his hands up and down both Hope's small back and Janet's arm. He was holding his entire world in his arms.

"It's symbiotic," Janet mumbled, her warm breath tickling his neck.

Hank frowned, his eyebrows scrunching together, and raised his head off his pillow, "What?"

"What you're thinking of, if it's us who need you or if it's you who needs us. It's symbiotic. We need you, you need us."

"How do you –"

"I can almost hear you thinking, Hank."

He let out a puff of air and avoided chuckling so as to not wake Hope, resting his head back on the pillow again.

* * *

 _1983_

Hank and Janet were warming up for a sparring session when they heard the front door open and their daughter's footsteps thudding loudly on the upper floor. The nanny was back with Hope from their morning walk in the park (Hope loved the park, not to mention that she loved the change of scenery, and so, every now and then, the nanny took her for a little walk). Janet said something about going upstairs and left her husband alone in the room. Hank wasn't exactly listening and continued his warm up exercises, not realizing how much time it had passed since Janet had gone upstairs. He whipped his head around when he heard the chain that held the punching bag to the ceiling jingling. The bag was slightly swaying but he didn't see Janet in the room. Rather, he found Hope standing by the bag's side, her fists clenched, ready to throw another punch.

"What are you doing?" he asked, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

Hope smiled back and punched the bag as a way of response to her father's question.

From time to time, Hank felt somewhat jealous of the fathers who had robust, intelligent, rambunctious boys. Maybe it was a macho man thing but Hank wished he had had a son as well. He wondered how different things would be like, fathering a boy, but when looking at Hope, Hank knew he wouldn't trade his little girl for anyone in the world. He'd teach his girl the best he could so that she'd give _'you [fill in the blank] like a girl_ ' a new, badass meaning.

"Nice punch," Hank praised. "You're gonna have a mean hook when you're grown up."

"Fight wit' me," Hope said, turning to her father.

Hank went down on one knee, proudly nodding his head when he saw his little daughter putting both her arms in front of her face. It wasn't a perfect blocking stance, but giving her age it was pretty damn good.

"Nah, c'mon," he told her, putting down her arms. He held his hands up, palms facing Hope, and said, "you punch."

She didn't have much (or any) strength to punch his hands with, but she had the determination and the stamina. And she did have quite bony fists, which made Hank feel a tingling on his palms after a while. Soon, Hope was bored of only punching and decided to throw a couple of kicks as well.

"Oi, careful there," Hank warned, moving his body back, his hands instinctively covering his crotch.

"I wanna kick too," she whined.

He sighed and held up his hands on a slightly lower position so that she could kick them.

"Alright, you can attack," Hank started, a devilish grin taking over his lips, "but can you – " he grabbed Hope's ankle when she kicked his palm, twirled her and held her upside down by the legs, "defend yourself?"

Hope giggled and screamed uncontrollably, kicking her legs over her father's shoulders. Hank lowered her body until the top of her head was resting on the mattress and then flipped her over her own body, setting her feet back on the ground.

"Again!" she excitedly shrieked, bouncing on the tip of her toes.

"No, one time is enough," he said, standing up. "Too many times will make you dizzy."

She pulled a sad face and heaved a long sigh, which only caused Hank to chuckle (she was good at emotional manipulation).

"But we can throw a couple more punches and kicks if you want," Hank suggested.

"Okay," she perked up and got into an upright stance again.

Hank started increasingly the level of difficulty for Hope. He asked her to jab with her left, then with the right, throw a kick with each leg and then duck as he simulated punching her. Hope was feeling energetic – she had no concept whatsoever of muscle fatigue - but it didn't take Hank long to get tired.

"Where is your mother?" he asked, momentarily letting his guard down.

That split of second was enough for him to get kicked in a very painful place. It seemed like it had been just yesterday when Hope was a nineteen inches and seven pounds creature who was wrapped in a blanket bigger than herself. Now she was three-years-old and landing roundhouse kicks to his family jewels. Hank couldn't say he was particularly thrilled with her abilities; given her age, they were amazing, yes, but aiming for his privates was not at all appreciated. He was sprawled on the floor, quietly groaning in pain. Hope giggled and sat on his stomach, smacking her palms flat on his chest.

Hank turned his head when he noticed that his wife was standing next to him, hands resting on the sides of her hips, "How long have been you standing there?"

"That was a really nice kick," she teased.

" _Painfully_ nice," he grumbled.

"So, are you warmed up already?"

Hank breathed heavily, sitting Hope on the mattress next to him, "So that's what this was? I'm exhausted already!"

"C'mon baby girl, there's a snack for you in the kitchen," Janet said, stretching her hand to her daughter. "Your father is an old fart, isn't he?"

Hope giggled, holding her mother's hand.

"She kicked me in the nuts."

"That only means she's gonna be a good fighter," Janet said just before exiting the room.

Hank sat up and let out in a sigh, "Well, that I don't doubt."

* * *

 _1984_

Hope and Hank were in the living room, sitting next to each other on the couch. He was reading a book about chemistry, she was reading– more like flipped through the pages that had short paragraphs and plenty of images – a book about animals and nature. Whenever Janet wasn't home, which was the case right now, the house was always strangely quiet. Hope and Hank preferred the silence; they liked to be in the same room and keep each other company without necessarily having to speak with one another. But still, in absolute silence, Hank talked with Hope in ways she never imagined. He knew that the day Hope had children of her own, she'd understand. Loving a child was a feeling beyond words, sometimes only actions or thoughts got the message across.

The Californian sun entered through the house's windows and bathed the room with its light and warmth. The sunlight elongated the shadow of his little girl and Hank stopped reading for a while to admire it. Her shadow was much bigger than her and he knew that she was going to grow bigger than her own shadow. The more he looked at her, the more he feared the days to come. She was already four-years-old and it felt like it had been yesterday when he first held her in his arms and she wrapped her fingers around his thumb and made him feel whole. Now she was strong and tall, stomped down the stairs and tirelessly ran around the backyard and the playground.

They had been to the playground earlier that day and he still hadn't been able to shake off the sad feelings. Hope let go of Hank's hand to run ahead to the swings. His heart broke. When she shouted for him to hurry up and push her, he shook his head and ran to her. But deep down he knew that that was just the first time she'd run ahead of him, and someday he wouldn't be chasing after her. One day she'd grow up and leave him and Janet behind. He didn't want that; it had taken them so long to have a child and he didn't want her to ever leave. He didn't want that, but he knew he had to let her spread her wings and fly.

Hank sighed and directed his attention to the book, even though he was not reading it; rather, he was playing in his head, over and over again, the words he'd like to tell his daughter every day of his life, the words he always found hard to express. He loved her with all his heart and would protect her with all his might. He was more than proud of every little thing she did because, for him, every day was a victory. Her name certainly ringed truth as to what she was to her parents; she was everything they ever hoped for. But, for some reason, Hank never managed to get those words out.

"Dad?" she crooned, fixing her eyes on him.

"Yes?" he said, looking up from his book.

"Caterpillars turn into butterflies, don't they?"

"Yes, they do. Why do you ask?"

Hope sighed and closed the book, hugging it against her chest, "'Cause you call me caterpillar and I don't want you to call me caterpillar anymore."

Hank frowned, surprised to hear that. He reached for the book marker and then it on the seat next to him, "What's wrong with calling you caterpillar?"

"They turn into butterflies and they are…" she crinkled her nose, "cute. I don't wanna be cute. I wanna be like mom."

He chuckled. Of course. She was Janet van Dyne's daughter. Janet was not cute in the traditional meaning of the word. She was a woman of candid demeanor, complicated, well-rounded, focused, determined, a hyper-competent hero, snarky, bold, self-assured, blunt, brutally honest, supporting, devoted and kickass. Hope took after her mother in every little thing so they were anything but _cute_.

"Alright, point taken. What do you want me to call you instead?"

"Bumblebee," she gave her father a gap-toothed grin.

Hank offered a small smile, grabbing his book again, "Bumblebee it is."

Happy with the fact that her father had agreed on her new nickname, Hope scrambled off the couch and made her way to the book shelf. She was standing on her toes, trying to put the book back in its place, gently biting the tip of tongue.

"Need a hand?" Hank asked.

"It's ok."

Hope climbed up the shelf, put the book back in its place and then jumped down. The landing wasn't as smooth as she imagined, and she ended up tottering back and falling on her bum. Hank barely had time to process his daughter's fall. She was up on her feet in seconds. He smiled. Maybe it was time. She was growing as strong as an oak.

"Come with me," he said while getting up. "I want to give you something."

Hope, who was about to leave the living room, to play her bedroom in her bedroom, followed her father. The promise of getting something had her excited.

"What is it, Daddy?" she asked in between hops.

Hank didn't say a word. He entered the master bedroom and pointed at the bed as so Hope would take a seat. He walked to the built-in wardrobe and looked for a small wooden box.

"Your mother and I bought this for you a few weeks before you were born," he said as he rummaged through the items in the box. "Ah, here it is," he exclaimed, showing Hope a necklace.

"Gimme, gimme," she happily screeched, stretching out her hands.

"Do you know why the pendants are an acorn and an oak leaf?" He unclasped the necklace and put it around Hope's neck. She shook her head so he began explaining, "A man named Napoleon Hill -"

"Who's he?"

"He was a writer. He once said the strongest oak tree of a forest is the one that lives in the open, struggling to live against the wind, rain and sun. You see," he took a seat next to her, "oak trees grow from very tiny acorns and then they become big, mighty trees. Your mother and I bought these pendants because the same will happen to you. We didn't put the necklace on you right after you were born because you were very, very small -"

"But I'm a big girl now," she declared.

"Yes. And that's why I'm giving it to you now. You were once like this little acorn," Hank carried on, playing with the acorn pendant, "but one day you're going to grow as strong and big as an oak."

"Cool," she said, oblivious to the explanation of the significance of the necklace, and slid down the bed. "Thanks, Dad."

That was the last thing Hope said before scurrying out the door.

He then heard her playing in her bedroom, the toys clunking on the wooden floor. Hank smiled, hearing her giggles and the imaginary scenarios she blurted as she played, lost in her fantasy world. He knew that sometimes he worried and stressed too much. Hope was growing up at a normal rate and she was years away from being an independent person; she still needed her parents very much. But he also knew that, given their line of work, it sometimes felt like time was flying and they were missing out on the chance to watch her grow up.

* * *

 _1985_

"No running in the kitchen," Janet mildly reprimanded as Hope ran into the kitchen at full speed.

"Where's dad?" Hope hurriedly asked.

"At a meeting," her mother responded. "Should be back soon."

"How soon?"

Janet looked back at her daughter, "What's the reason for such hurry?"

"I need to show him something," Hope grinned and grabbed her mother by the wrist, "Wanna see it too?"

"I can't right now, Hope." The girl let out a sigh, quickly directing her gaze to the tiled floor. "Can it wait a bit?"

She shrugged and heaved another sigh, "Fine."

Janet stroked her daughter's hair, looking down at her, "Take a seat, alright? I'll be done here in a minute."

The girl nodded and took a seat on one of the stools on the kitchen's island, kicking her heels against the seat's rung. Hope started giggling and Janet simply smiled at the sound of her laugh, despite not knowing what the cause of her daughter's snickering was.

"Alright, what did –" Janet fell silent as soon as she turned around, being rooted at that exact spot she was standing. "Good Lord."

It was not like she wasn't used to seeing ants, but seeing a colony of them on the kitchen's island was a different story. Hope had her elbows resting on the counter's surface and her chin propped in her hands, attentively observing the ants.

"How did you get the ants to come here?"

Hope smirked and then fiddled with her ear, showing Janet a small-scaled EMP Communication Device, "Dad made one for me. He said his dwarfed my ear. And he said he couldn't lend it to me 'cause he needs it."

"This is amazing, baby girl," the woman beamed.

She put the tip of her index finger against the edge of the counter and watched in wonder as Hope controlled one of the ants to walk up her finger.

"Hank, kitchen, now," Janet shouted upon hearing the front door opening.

"What's wrong?" Hank asked breathless, rushing into the kitchen.

There was no need for explanations. His attention turned to the ant colony almost immediately.

"She was eager to show it to you, Hank."

"Whatcha think, dad?" the five-year-old grinned.

He smiled and put a kiss on her head, "It took me months to master this and you did it in only a few weeks. You're amazing, Bumblebee."

"No, you're the best, dad," Hope tilted her head back to get a good look of her father's face, the top of her head resting against Hank's chest. "You taught me how to do it. I just did the same."

His heart swelled with happiness and pride. She looked up to him like he was the greatest man in the world. He was her hero just because he was her dad.

"Finally your father taught you something other than snoring," Janet teased. Hank and Hope stared at her with disbelief on their faces that caused the woman to laugh. "Come on you two, tell the ants to disperse. I'm not serving dinner until they're outside."

* * *

 _1986_

Hope tossed and turned in bed. She was trying her best to shut her eyes and sleep, but it seemed impossible. She kept on staring at her schoolbag, lying on the floor by the door. It seemed like the teacher's note would burn a hole through the cloth of her schoolbag and make its way to her parents. She sat up with a throaty, displeased grunt, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms, eyes still focused on the schoolbag. Hope shook her head and fluffed her pillow, lying back down to try and get some sleep. However, now it was her legs that were fidgety, making her kick back the bed sheets, swing her feet off bed and down onto the wooden boards. The six-year-old found herself padding down the hallway to her parents' bedroom. Janet was sleeping, but Hank was not there. Hope decided to look for him in the bunker; if he wasn't there, then it meant he would not be coming home soon (or at all that night) and she'd slip into bed with her mother and tell her what was bothering her in the morning.

"Where did I put the screwdriver?" Hank mused aloud, rummaging through the tools scattered everywhere over his work table.

Hope, standing by his side, stretched her hand, giving the screwdriver to her father. Hank hadn't seen his daughter standing there, as she walked in quietly (he didn't even know how long she had been standing there), but he managed not to let on any signs of his startle upon seeing her.

"Thank you," he said, receiving the tool from Hope. He noticed the look on her face. "What's keeping you awake, Bumblebee?"

Hope shrugged and walked over to take a seat on the chair across from her father. She sat there quietly, staring down at her small bare feet, playing with her fingers in her lap. Hank didn't pressure her, resuming to his work; he knew she'd pour it out one moment or another.

"I got a note from school today," Hope eventually disclosed.

Hank put his tools and work aside, focusing his attention on his daughter now, "What happened?"

"It was during recess," she began, raising her head, looking at everything but her father. "Some boys in my class were in the playground, stepping on ants. I told them to stop, but they didn't. I told them that ants can feel pain too because they are living things and that we can talk with them, but they said I was stupid. I tried to tell them to stop, I really did, but they didn't listen… so I pushed them." Hope then added in a low tone, "And kicked them too."

Hank chuckled quietly; she was really her mother's daughter.

"The teacher said she understood why I did it, but said that I should have called someone, not hit them. She said she wouldn't write a note to you and mom if I promised I wouldn't hit anyone else but I didn't promise," Hope's voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. However, she breathed deeply and rubbed her eyes. She was determined not to shed a single tear. "I couldn't promise, Dad," she now looked into Hank's eyes. "They were hurting ants that ain't done nothing."

Hank pushed back his chair and beckoned Hope to walk to him. She slid down the chair and closed the short distance between them with small, slow steps; she figured she had earned herself a reprimand. Hank scooped his daughter up under the arms and sat her on his lap.

"It's alright, Bumblebee. I understand."

"You do?" She looked up, stunned.

"I do. Not everyone understands how important ants are. And common people don't understand the wonders of science or believe that we can control ants. It's frustrating, I know, but we have to live with it. Sometimes things don't work out the way we want, or the way that is most correct, but we just have to let it happen."

"So, if they step on ants or other animal again, I just let them do it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"That's not fair," she grumbled, visibly upset with the verdict.

Hank offered a small smile, "Life's not fair, Bumblebee. Unfortunately..." he heaved a sigh and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "Let's go to bed, now?"

Hope nodded and rested her head on his shoulder, a soft yawn escaping her mouth. Hank adjusted Hope in his arms, turned off the bunker's lights and made the way to her bedroom. He also let out a yawn while climbing up the stairs, his body proving to him that it needed some well-deserved rest.

"Goodnight, Bumblebee," Hank said, tucking Hope into bed.

"'Night, dad," she told him, following her father's movements with her eyes as he exited her bedroom and let the door close behind him.

* * *

 _1987_

There was the sound of a key scratching on the lock. Hope opened her eyes and breathed in sharply, sitting up in her bed. She peeped outside her bedroom's window and saw her father's car parked right outside the garage door. Mom and Dad were home! She couldn't wait to wrap her arms around her mother's neck and give her a tight hug, and to grasp her father's shirt, press her feet on his lower back and climb up him. (" _One day you're gonna cost me a kidney, Bumblebee_ ," Hank always grunted, securing Hope's wrists that were wrapped around his neck). The girl dashed down the stairs, quietly giggling – she didn't want to wake up the nanny – already hearing her father's lighthearted complaint in the back of her head.

"Daddy!" Hope happily shrieked, flinging her little body at Hank's body.

He didn't move. He stood motionless and let her press her feet on his thighs, tug at his shirt collar and climb up on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Hank adjusted Hope in his arms while she peeked over his shoulders, craning her neck. She asked _the_ question.

"Where's mom?"

"Mom's not coming," Hank said quietly, feeling a lump in his throat and tears welling up in his eyes.

Hope giggled and wiggled out of Hank's embrace – he was joking. She was right outside…maybe they had a surprise for her, like when they bought her bicycle! He watched her cross the entrance hall in a few clumsy, running steps, opening the door and looking outside.

"Mommy?" she called out. No response. Hope waited for a bit more before turning around and closing the door, her gleeful expression slowly fading away, "She's not here."

Hank sighed and stooped, beckoning her. Hope walked to him with small steps, a cool feeling pooling in her tummy; he looked serious and sad.

"She's not coming, Hope," he told her, holding her little hands on his.

"Oh," she hummed, unable to understand the real meaning of her father's explanation. "When will she be back?"

"She's not coming tonight or anytime soon. She's… gone," his voice cracked right then and there.

He let go of her hands, got up and walked away, his mood melancholy as he made his way to _his_ bedroom. Hope was rooted in the same spot, watching him walk away. She didn't see him for the next two weeks after that night. Not even on the day of Janet's funeral. Hank flat out refused going to the cemetery to watch an empty coffin be buried. He knew that his wife was alive. She had just disappeared into the subatomic Quantum Realm and he was going to bring her back. He didn't know exactly how at the moment, but he was going to figure it out eventually.

But even though Hank understood the circumstances of his wife's disappearance, Hope didn't. One morning, her nanny gave her an A-line black dress and ballerinas of the same color and then told her father that they were going to Janet's funeral. Hope remembered that everything about the day was depressing and dreary. The melancholy atmosphere tore at her young heart from all the black clothes to the tears. She hadn't understood the _"she's gone"_ thing her father had told her a few days before until that day. It wasn't until people came to her and caressed her arm, offering their condolences and kind words that she understood that her mother was gone as in dead. It wasn't until that day, when she looked at the tombstone that Hope realized that her mother had married her father, but that she wasn't a Pym. Her nanny said that it was something usual and that everyone could change their name anytime they wanted. That got Hope thinking…

Stark and his loyal butler, Edwin Jarvis, also showed up at Janet's funeral. Howard and Hank weren't the best of friends, but they weren't enemies. And besides, it did make him look good showing up for the funeral of a colleague's wife. (Perhaps for the same reason, a few years later, in 1991, Hank was present at Maria and Howard Stark's burial. That was something Hope never forgave her father for: he was there for Tony, who was _nothing_ to him, but he hadn't been there for her, _his daughter_ , on the day of her mother's funeral.) When Howard commented with his butler on how insensitive Hank was being for not being there for his child, especially during such a difficult time, Jarvis simply ignored his Master. Hank and Howard loved to point out each other's flaws, but they never seemed to notice (or never wanted to admit) how much alike the two of them were. They both had troubles expressing how much they cared for their children, both sought refuge in their work when life got hard, both left their kids in someone else's care, both sent their kids off to boarding school. Maybe parenting wasn't for certified geniuses like them.

When September came, Hope had her belongings packed and left by the door. Hank simply told her that he was sending her to boarding school because it was all too much. Hope had to agree. He wasn't the same, she wasn't the same, the house wasn't the same. He explained to her that with her mother gone, part of him was gone as well. But Hope, at such tender age, couldn't understand the reason why. She just wanted her mother and father back because the world seemed like a scary place now. She just wanted everything to be same and never change, but Hank told her to " _man up and carry on because life never stops; it just slows down sometimes._ "

She could still remember the first day of school, slowly walking around the corridors, nervously wrapping the hem of her uniform sweater around her fingers. Hope was feeling shy, she was _not_ scared. Nothing in the world could scare her anymore. Life just slowed down sometimes, Hank told her, but she was ready to pick up the pace. Now, as an adult, Hope could even pinpoint the moment in which she picked up the pace, pulled herself together and moved on. The teacher was taking attendance, trying to put a face to the names as she called them out. Hope was attentively listening to the teacher's voice but kept her head hanging low, swinging her legs under the table while she played with the two little pendants of her necklace.

"The strongest oak of the forest is the one that lives in the open, struggling to live against the wind, rain and sun," she quietly mumbled to herself.

Finally her name was called.

"Hope Pym?"

" _van Dyne_ ," Hope said, raising her head, "It's Hope van Dyne."

"It's not what's written here, dear. Is your surname wrong?"

"I guess it's Pym for now," Hope sighed.

Her mom was dead and for some reason her dad had shut her out of his life. He wasn't her hero anymore and so she wasn't his Bumblebee anymore. If her father didn't want her anymore, then she didn't want him either. Right then and there, seven-year-old Hope had made up her mind: she wasn't a Pym anymore. And one day, when she was all grown-up, she was going to change her name, learn how to fight and be a goddamn hero, whether her father wanted it or not.

 _Life's not fair, Bumblebee_ , she remembered him once telling her. Damn, wasn't he right?


End file.
